


never let you go

by laireshi



Category: Marvel 616, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: (not the 616 one -- another), 616 Steve shows up too, Abuse, Alcoholism, Angst, Dark Steve, Emotional Abuse, Evil Steve, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I need you, Tony."</p>
            </blockquote>





	never let you go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salmastryon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmastryon/gifts).



> This is not a nice fic.
> 
> The non-con isn't graphic, but Tony really isn't in any position to consent to anything.
> 
> Thanks for beta to [Bragi151](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bragi151/pseuds/Bragi151). Also for all the evil suggestions to [Comicsohwhyohwhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicsohwhyohwhy/pseuds/Comicsohwhyohwhy).

Tony woke up.

Someone was gripping his arm to the point of pain.

“Get up,” a very familiar voice said.

Tony blinked sleep out of his eyes, tried to shrug the hand off – it hurt, damn it – and looked up. It was still dark, but he’d always recognize Steve.

“Come on,” Steve said, pulling him up.

Steve wouldn’t normally act this way, Tony thought. He said nothing as Steve finally let him go, but he rubbed at his arm, sure there would be a bruise. “What’s going on?”

“I need you, Tony.”

There was everything Tony had ever wanted to hear in Steve’s voice in that sentence, but also more than that. There was something … scary, too.

Tony trusted Steve with his life, but, just for a second, he’d been _afraid_. It was stupid, he knew. Steve was safe. Steve would never hurt him. Steve was a good man.

Tony stood up. “Lead the way,” he said.

Steve chuckled quietly, and it sounded wrong. “There’s something on the rooftop I want to show you,” he said. He put his hand on the nape of Tony’s neck as they went, his grip just short of painful.

“Steve,” Tony said, pausing in his steps. “Something’s wrong.”

Steve tightened his hand and forced him to move forward. Correction: something was _very_ wrong.

“You’re hurting me,” Tony said.

“You should walk faster,” Steve said. “We don’t have much time.”

That was it. Tony tried to stop again, and when Steve wouldn’t let him, he tried to push Steve’s hand away. Before he knew it, Steve had pinned him against the wall, his hand on Tony’s throat like a threat.

Tony trusted Steve. But this wasn’t Steve.

“Who are you?” he gasped out.

“Did I pick a stupid one?” Steve wondered. “That wouldn’t do.”

Tony kicked at him, but it was like trying to kick a statue. He reached out with his hand, but there wasn’t an alarm button anywhere near him.

“Ave –” he started to yell, but then Steve covered his mouth, his hand pressing on Tony’s throat, and there was just darkness.

***

Tony woke up slowly. He felt hazy, but he remembered Steve – no, not Steve – strangling him. That was one hell of a nightmare, he thought, but he reached to his neck unwillingly anyway, and then froze.

It hurt. It hurt as if it was bruised. As if someone _had_ strangled him.

He opened his eyes and looked around. The room was simple enough. The bed he was on, one wardrobe, a desk with a chair, one window – one _barred_ window, to be exact. Two doors. It wouldn’t be out of place in a cheap hotel – the bars aside – and Tony wondered where he was. Was it some Skrulls’ station on Earth? It would be weird, they usually tried to impersonate the person whose body they took; the Steve – not Steve – yesterday (or however much time had passed) hadn’t acted anything like Steve.

Tony stood up. He noticed he was still in his pyjamas. He went around the room. He found three cameras, disconnected every one, and some more microphones. He disconnected them too. The wardrobe held clothes which looked his size. Then he tried the first door, just to find it closed. The other one led to a small bathroom. There was a towel and a bar of soap, but nothing more.

He went back to the room and looked closer at the lock in the closed door. He could try to pick a simple one with wires from the cameras, but this wasn’t a simple lock, or indeed just one.

This was bad.

He went to the window and looked out. The bars looked solid, and Tony didn’t have anything like Wolverine’s claws to be able to cut through them. The view …

Well.

The view was very much like this from the Avengers Tower looking out on the cityscape of New York, except he knew there weren’t any rooms like this in his Tower.

It’d been a few minutes since he disconnected the surveillance equipment, he suspected someone would show up soon. He stood with his back pressed to the wall with the door and waited.

Some more minutes later, he heard the click of a key in one of the locks. Then another. When the door finally opened, Tony attacked the person walking inside just like Steve had taught him, his straight hand going to the clavicle of his captor.

Except, it was – wasn’t – Steve, and he’d grabbed Tony’s hand before it even touched him. “Misbehaving already,” he said.

“Who are you?” Tony asked, trying not to wince. Steve’s grip was hard enough Tony was worried he’d crack his wrist.

“Really, Tony? Again?” Steve shook his head. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Steve wouldn’t hurt me,” Tony said.

Not-Steve looked almost disappointed. “I wouldn’t hurt you if you didn’t force me to,” he said.

Tony stared at him with disbelief.

“I need you,” Steve said again, the same voice as Tony had heard already: full of desire and longing. It made his skin crawl.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Tony said.

Steve walked him backwards, made him sit on the bed and then finally let him go. Tony stretched his hand. He was sure now it wasn’t a Skrull, but an alternate version of Steve, which made it both better and worse. Better, because there wouldn’t be another Tony to take his place and the Avengers would notice he was missing. Worse, because it was harder to escape being in another dimension. And … A part of Tony had always believed every version of Steve was a hero, even as he realistically knew it wasn’t possible in the multiverse. And this Steve clearly wasn’t a good guy. What about the other heroes?

“Tony,” Steve said. “You promised you’d stay, and you lied.” There was something like honest grief in his eyes now and it made it all worse. “You lied. You lay there bleeding, and you wouldn’t wake up. I need you here. I won’t let you do that again.”

He was insane, Tony realised slowly.

“You can’t keep me in a cell,” he said aloud.

Steve grinned, but there wasn’t any actual amusement on his face, just something dark. It looked plain wrong. Steve shouldn’t look like that. “If that’s what it takes to keep you.”

Tony shivered. His eyes darted to the open door, but he knew he wouldn’t reach it before Steve could stop him and … Tony didn’t know what this Steve could do to him, and he wasn’t interested in finding out. “What if I promise,” he said. “I’ll be good. Just let me out.”

“You promised once already!” Steve roared.

“But it wasn’t me,” Tony said. “It was – another Tony. You could trust me.” He would beg if that was what it took.

Steve laughed. “Do you take me for an idiot, Tony?” He leant in, his eyes glittering. “ _I need you_. I can’t exist without you.”

“But you don’t have me,” Tony said. “You took me from my world and you closed me in this room, and –”

“You’re mine!” Steve yelled, and Tony couldn’t help it, he moved away, crawled over the bed to get as far away from him as possible.

It was Steve. Tony trusted the way he looked instinctively. But the way he acted … It terrified him.

That Tony had always wanted to hear Steve say these words was another matter entirely.

Steve calmed down slowly. He smiled at Tony, and it seemed almost right. Tony told himself again: it wasn’t his Steve. He couldn’t trust this smile.

“Get up, Tony,” he said. “We’re going to eat dinner together.”

Tony wanted to laugh hysterically, but he thought better on it and listened to Steve. This way he could look around – were they really in some version of the Avengers Tower? – the place and maybe try to think of a way to run away.

Steve put his hand on the nape of Tony’s neck again, and Tony didn’t even try to run away this time. His neck hurt everywhere and he knew he had no chances against Steve in physical combat.

The corridor was dark, but Steve didn’t hesitate. He led Tony through a few turns and then they reached another door. Steve touched the wall and a panel lit up.

 _Steve Rogers, full access_ , flashed on it, and the door opened.

Biometric controls, then. Tony wondered if his counterpart’s data had been wiped from the system already, if he’d even had access to it to begin with. Had he been with this Steve? Willingly? Had he been just as crazy? A villain or a hero? Maybe this Steve’s _obsession_ , because there wasn’t any other word for it, extended just to Tony? But in this case, there’d have to be other Avengers, they would have to protest …

Steve led him to a room Tony knew all too well. It was the Avengers’ living room. Everything was similar, down to the placement of the furniture, except … Where, in Tony’s world, were the pictures of the Avengers, here were the pictures of _Tony_.

Creepy didn’t cover it.

Tony swallowed. “What about the other heroes?” he asked.

“They’re gone,” Steve said without any emotion. “It doesn’t matter.”

 _Gone_. Tony didn’t want to know what it meant.

Steve pushed him forward, on the way to the kitchen that Tony also knew all too well.

There was a table set for two people, candle-lit, like a parody of a romantic setting.

“Sit down,” Steve ordered. “I made your favourite dish.”

Tony had wanted it with _his_ Steve.

He waited till Steve turned to the oven, and ran for it. The Tower was similar, if he could just reach the safety stairwell fast enough –

Steve collided with him, throwing him to the ground. “I told you to sit down,” he growled, pulling Tony’s arm behind him to the point of pain.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, panicking. “I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t think, I’m sorry –”

His arm hurt, his muscle was definitely pulled, and Steve was pressing him down to the ground with his body weight. Tony didn’t want to admit it, but he was terrified.

“You’re always lying,” Steve said. “All of you.”

Tony went very, very still at that.

 _All of him_?

So he wasn’t the first substitute-Tony this Steve took?

“I’m sorry,” Tony repeated. “I’ll be good, Steve, please let me go –”

“We’re going to eat dinner,” Steve whispered in his ear. “You’re going to behave. My Tony would never have done that.”

Tony nodded quickly. Steve rolled of him, stood up, and then pulled Tony to his feet when he hadn’t straightened fast enough on his own.

He couldn’t quite move his arm.

This time, he sat down on the chair Steve pointed at, and didn’t say a word as Steve put pasta with pesto on his plate.

Tony hated it.

“Eat,” Steve said.

Tony’s left hand wouldn’t be of any use tonight. He was very glad he’d taught himself to be ambidextrous and he grabbed the fork with his right hand.

“Tony’s left-handed,” Steve said coolly, and Tony froze.

Steve was looking at him, and Tony suddenly knew that if he didn’t switch hands right this minute, he’d end with a snapped neck.

He tried not to wince as he ate with his left hand.

“Wasn’t it nice, Tony?” Steve asked after what felt like ages later, when they were finished.

Tony smiled shakily. “Yes,” he lied.

Steve walked him back to the small room, closed all the locks behind him. Finally alone, Tony fell to his knees and shook. He didn’t care if the cameras had been replaced by someone during their dinner. He doubted it, but he didn’t have the strength to look.

It would be better if this Steve wasn’t so much like Tony’s Steve in his every gesture.

He fell asleep on the floor like that, cradling his hurt arm against his chest.

***

He woke up cold and aching. The floor didn’t make the best bed after all.

Tony had to find a way to get out of here, but a part of him was terrified at the thought of what this Steve would do to him if he failed.

Maybe the better way would be to play nice. Pretend to be this world’s Tony, gain this Steve’s trust, wait until he’d let his guard down. Tony felt sick at the thought, but he couldn’t see another way now.

He got up, looked around. The cameras were still gone. Good.

He showered, then he wrapped the towel around his waist and went to the wardrobe. He picked something randomly: a pair of black trousers and a white tank-top like the ones he liked wearing in the lab. The locks started opening this moment, and Tony froze.

Steve went in.

Tony felt very naked clad just in the towel.

“You’re not yet ready?” Steve shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said. “I – the dinner was great. I slept well.”

Steve smiled at that and for a moment he looked so much like the right Steve it hurt. “Good,” he said. “Now hurry up.”

Tony nodded. He gathered the clothes he prepared and moved towards the bathroom.

“Did you grow modest, Tony?” Steve asked.

Tony stopped mid-step. He’d never had any problem with nudity, this was nothing –

He could feel Steve’s eyes on him as he changed, and he couldn’t stop shaking.

The Avengers had to be looking for him, he told himself. Multidimensional portals left unique energy trails, they’d find him soon enough even if he couldn’t make it on his own.

“Breakfast now,” Steve said, and Tony followed without prompting.

***

Tony felt as if he was going crazy.

The trust for his Steve mixed with the fear of this one. Tony was terrified at the thought of him, but every time he smiled he had to remind himself it wasn’t _his_ Steve. That the smiles didn’t count. They were just one more element of the torture.

Steve always came to him for breakfasts and dinners. Lunches were random. Sometimes Steve came. Sometimes Tony was left alone in the small room with just his thoughts.

The cameras never came back.

He tried to break the window, but it was reinforced glass. He asked Steve for a razor, got a safety one, and tried to use it to pick a lock anyway.

Nothing worked.

_***_

Steve was leading him for breakfast. Tony wasn’t sure what time it was exactly, but the light outside his windows had suggested it was very early.

“How about we go for a run?” Tony suggested. “My Steve …”

He couldn’t finish the sentence before Steve had pushed him into the wall, hard. “I am your Steve,” he growled.

Tony started nodding, but Steve punched him then, again and again. “I – am – your – Steve,” he was repeating.

The back of Tony’s head hit the wall and he blacked out.

***

He woke up. Someone was holding his hand. There was something cold pressed to his jaw. He cracked his eyes open and saw Steve near him, looking worried.

For a short moment, Tony hoped he was back home.

Then he realised it wasn’t his Steve. The lines of this Steve’s face were too tense, too hard. Tony wanted to back off, but he was lying, and he was too afraid of what Steve would do then.

“I hope you’re feeling better,” Steve said, stroking his hand up Tony’s arm.

Tony felt sick.

***

“Can we watch some TV?” Tony asked one day. If he could see the news, decide what kind of a world it was …

“What for?” Steve asked. “We can talk to each other.”

Tony forced himself to smile.

***

Steve opened the door when it was dinner time. He was in a suit.

“What’s the occasion?” Tony asked, because he felt Steve would appreciate it.

“You’ve been good,” Steve said.

Tony hated himself for the immediate hope he felt.

“The dinner will be special,” Steve said.

Tony tried to smile at that. He went after Steve wondering what he should expect.

There was a bottle of wine on the table.

“I know you like it,” Steve said. “But alcohol makes people unreasonable, so I had to wait with it.”

Tony couldn’t breathe.

Steve was looking at him expectantly.

“Thank you,” Tony managed.

He sat down, because he couldn’t keep standing.

It was too much. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Steve’s eyes were very dark.

Tony drank.

***

He threw up as soon as he was back in his room, but it was too late. The alcohol was coursing through his veins already, and he felt light-headed, loved and hated the feeling.

He could only hope it was a one-off occasion, that it wouldn’t be the new _tradition_.

He hoped it would be and he hated himself for it.

***

He stopped thinking of his world. It hurt too much. He went with Steve every day without arguing, laughed at his jokes and smiled unprompted. It was better than getting beaten up again and again. It was easy, to play the role.

It was hard to remember it was just this: a role.

_***_

He lost the count of time.

He started smiling, hearing the door opening.

He wasn’t sure _his_ Steve had ever been real.

(The bottle of wine was always there on their dinner table. He appreciated it. His Steve, if he ever existed, had always been so sad and angry about him drinking.)

***

Steve kissed him one night.

A part of Tony thought it was wrong. The bigger part thought, _finally_.

***

He woke up in what could only be Steve’s bed.

The door was open.

He went back to sleep.

***

Steve ran his fingers up Tony’s arm, pulled the blankets tighter around him. “Are you sure you aren’t cold?” he asked gently.

Tony shook his head. It was winter outside, but here, in the Tower, he was safe and warm, Steve always near him.

Steve pressed a mug of warm tea in his hands. “Drink it,” he said.

Tony briefly thought of coffee, and then smiled and downed the mug.

_***_

He had everything he needed. Steve loved him and cared for him. Steve was his world, and he was Steve’s.

It was ideal.

***

One day when they were eating dessert, Steve feeding Tony strawberries in melted chocolate, there was a loud, painful sound, and an eruption of light.

Steve moved in front of Tony immediately, but Tony could still look over his shoulder, and –

There was something wrong.

There was _another_ Steve in the room. And … Other people. Tony’s memory slowly supplied the names. Reed. Carol. Peter. Jessica. Luke. Logan. Rhodey.

“Move away from him,” the other Steve said clearly.

Tony _knew_ them. They were friends. But they were armed, and they were looking to harm his Steve. He couldn’t let them.

“Tony’s mine,” his Steve said, and Tony felt so _warm_ at that.

“Let’s ask him what he thinks, shall we?” the other Steve said.

Tony stared at him. He didn’t know what to do. His hand curled around his Steve’s arm protectively, and the other Steve’s face went hard.

“What have you done to him?” he demanded.

“He’s at home,” Tony’s Steve growled.

“No, he’s not,” the other Steve said. “We outnumber you. Let him go.”

His Steve looked around. Tony stood behind him, frozen, because they were his friends, but they wanted to take him away, and it was wrong, he wasn’t sure what was happening, why they were here –

His Steve moved, too quickly for Tony to react, and then he was pressing edge of the knife they’d used to peel the strawberries to Tony’s throat.

“You won’t take him from me,” Steve said.

It was wrong. He couldn’t be suggesting – Steve loved him, Tony knew, he couldn’t be …

Tony realised he was shivering, and he didn’t care, because Steve was pressing a knife against his carotid and Steve was supposed to love him and Tony’s world was shattering around him.

He could see the group – the Avengers, he remembered – looking around at each other. Then the other Steve said, “Tony, be very still,” and several things happened at once.

He felt Steve moving the knife closer, but before he could, Peter’s web stuck to it and he pulled it away. Reed extended his arm far enough to wrap an arm around Tony’s waist and pulled him away from Steve.

Even as he was being moved, not really able to fight it with Reed’s arm wound around him several times, Tony could see the other Steve hurling his shield at Tony’s – or was he? – Steve.

Rhodey and Carol were next to Tony immediately, Reed pulling his arm back.

“Tones,” Rhodey said. “Tones, you all right?”

Tony didn’t know the answer. His Steve would have killed him?

He fell to his knees and sobbed.

***

Seeing Tony with the other Steve was a shock.

Seeing him – apparently wanting to stay there was a bigger one.

Steve was furious. This other Steve had dared to take Tony from him, and then he had – manipulated him – hurt him – used him –

Steve _hated_ it.

If he'd thrown his shield a bit _too_ hard – well, the other him would never hurt _any_ Tony again.

***

Tony let the doctors poke at him. He let Hank take his blood. He let Reed run his tests.

He didn’t say a word.

He was led to a room that was called _his_. Steve wasn’t in sight.

Tony was lost.

***

Steve didn’t know what to do.

Tony was a shadow of himself. He showed up to breakfasts and dinners, unprompted, and looked at the table, searching for someone who wasn’t there. He sometimes looked at Steve with hope in his eyes that would quickly die.

During the day, he would hide in his room, and Steve wanted to talk to him and was afraid the only thing he would do was to make it worse.

If only he had noticed Tony was gone earlier. If only he had asked Reed Richards for help sooner. If only he had been of any help with actual searching.

Watching Tony, Steve was afraid he might have hurt him more by saving him.

(He wondered, if he had kissed Tony before it all happened, if it could have saved them both.)

***

Rhodey visited him every day. Tony didn’t know what to tell him. Rhodey asked him to go eat dinner with the team sometimes. They all stared at him, all by Steve.

“Can I have some wine?” Tony asked, and the silence was deafening.

He stood up and left, half-expecting someone to stop him and tell him to be good, but no one did. He closed himself in his bedroom and thought of the shock he’d noticed on Steve’s face.

He missed _his_ Steve. But he shouldn’t – right? – his Steve had tried to kill him, Tony hadn’t meant anything to him, he was worthless, he was –

Maybe he should finish with it all.

***

“He misses him,” Rhodey told Steve one day. “I shouldn’t tell you that, but …”

But it was obvious, and none of them knew what to do, Steve finished.

***

Steve watched from afar as his friends reached out to Tony. As Rhodey tried to get him out in the world again. As Carol took him on coffee dates and asked him to fix her tech. As Pepper talked to him and offered to show him SI contracts so he’d have something _else_ to focus on.

Something else other than what seemed like lost love, even if it was so _wrong_.

Steve wanted to help him, and didn’t dare try.

***

Tony started spending a lot of time in the workshop. Sometimes one of his friends sat down with him. Peter was hyperactive, asking a million questions, answering half of them himself. Jessica needed some new tech for her stealth S.H.I.E.L.D. missions. Rhodey wanted updates to his armour.

Tony looked at the Iron Man armour standing in his workshop and for the first time he thought he missed it.

(Not half as much as he missed his Steve. Tony must have done something wrong to make him want to hurt him, or maybe it had been some plan of Steve’s Tony should have trusted in, and it was his fault Steve was gone.)

***

Steve thought Tony slowly had started looking better. He was Iron Man again. He was spending a lot of time in the workshop.

He sometimes would join the movie night, but never if Steve had already been there.

Steve stopped attending.

***

Sometimes Tony hated them all for taking him from his home, for taking his Steve from him.

Sometimes he dreamt of Steve kissing him.

(Sometimes he dreamt of Steve hurting him, and it was wrong, Steve had loved him.)

***

“It wasn’t your fault,” Carol said, moving in to kick Steve.

Steve dodged. “But it was,” he answered.

She punched him then, and he hardly managed to avoid it. “How?” she asked, and he didn’t have an answer he could share.

He should have protected Tony.

***

Tony went through his days aimlessly.

“You know this Steve was …” Rhodey started saying one time.

“No,” Tony said. “Don’t.”

He knew what Rhodey wanted to say. And … Maybe it hadn’t been quite … Healthy. Steve and him. Maybe some things weren’t all right. Tony knew that.

But Steve had loved him and needed him, had cared for Tony, and that was what mattered. No one had ever needed Tony like Steve had. Tony would do anything to feel loved like that again. It was wrong and selfish, but it was true.

“You’re home now, Tones,” Rhodey said, and he sounded like he cared.

Tony shook his head.

***

One day, Steve walked in the kitchen and found Tony crying.

There were strawberries on the table, and Steve remembered seeing the other Steve feeding them to Tony.

He had never hated himself as much as he did in this moment.

“I wish I could help,” he said quietly.

Tony looked at him, and there was hope on his face for a short moment before it disappeared, replaced with recognition.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.

“I was happy,” Tony admitted quietly. It was like a punch. “I – I loved him.”

Steve couldn’t breathe.

“I loved you, too,” Tony continued, and he couldn’t have known what he was doing to Steve with his words. “But – he needed me, and you never did. I was his, and – I need him too.” He was sobbing, his words indistinct. Steve wanted to hug him and keep him close and never let anyone hurt him again, but this was the problem, wasn’t it?

It’d been Steve who hurt him in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” he said aloud. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated the words until he wasn’t sure what they meant anymore, repeated them like a mantra, because the alternative was to cry.

“Leave,” Tony asked finally, and Steve all but ran away.

***

Tony moved out of the tower, but New York wasn’t big enough, so he moved to Los Angeles.

He missed his Steve, but it was bearable on the other coast, where they’d never been together.

He could live there, he thought.

He missed his Steve. He’d never stop.

He worked on new SI inventions and protected LA when it was necessary, and he pretended it was all right.


End file.
